Coming to Terms With the Unspoken
by PurplePatchwork
Summary: Each nation has scars. Some are emotional, some physical. And then there are those they shamefully try to hide, even from their lover.


It had taken them quite a long time to pass the barrier between distrust and friendship, and even longer before they finally allowed themselves to love. Slowly the two started breaking down their walls, peeking over it as if looking at the other with new eyes. Past the hatred, past the pain and regret, past a young kinship and naivety. Alfred could finally see Ivan for what he was, and Ivan could finally see the man Alfred had become. They fell hard and fast.

The two would make for an unconventional couple, they knew that. After years of spying on each other, years of mockery and challenge, it wasn't easy to let go. But they knew that, if they would persevere, in the end it would be worth it. Of course, that didn't mean there weren't any hurdles to jump.

"Why do you never take your scarf off?" was a recurring question from Alfred. Of course he already knew; Ivan had shown him the scars many years ago, back when they were still friends. He'd even let Alfred touch them, smiling when that strong hand gently followed the contours of lines and edges.

Whenever Alfred posed that particular question, Ivan's hand automatically shot to his throat, as if feeling the instinctive need to protect the concealed skin. Alfred didn't understand at first, what was there left to hide? Why did Ivan never get rid of that one protection? And even if he did, there were still the bandages. Was he afraid Alfred had somehow forgotten? That would be next to impossible, seeing as nations had an excellent memory for such important events.

It wasn't until later that Alfred started to suspect the true nature of Ivan's secretive behaviour. When they were both lying in bed, Ivan on top and he writhing beneath, open-mouthed kisses placed along his collarbone. Ivan asked what he thought to be an innocent question. "Turn over…I want to feel you arch against me…"

Alfred's excited movements slowed down into a full stop, his breath ragged as his vision came back into focus. "N-no, I want to do it like this…"

Ivan initially didn't take notice of his reluctance, too aroused himself. He dragged his tongue over Alfred's Adam's apple, chuckling when it bobbed against his lips. "Why not switch every once in a while?"

"No. Ivan, I mean it—no!" Ivan paused, the playful mood gone. He sat up, staring down at his lover with a confused hurt in his eyes. "Why do you never show me your back, _dorogoy_?"

"For the same reason you never show your neck," Alfred retaliated, taken aback by how venomous his words sounded. Silence fell over the room like a thick and uncomfortable blanket, neither man daring to look the other in the eye.

"...Fine, I can see that you are not in the mood," Ivan finally muttered, shrugging semi-nonchalantly. Alfred didn't respond as the other lifted himself off his body and started putting his clothes back on. He simply lay there on his mattress, gaze locked with some dust particles dancing in front of his window, hands balled to fists and nostrils flaring. His heart voiced a solid thud as the door fell into the lock. Ivan was gone.

They had had fights before, of course they'd had fights before. But none left him as uncomfortable as this recent one. If they truly wanted to be happy together, they needed to talk to each other, learn to trust, to forgive (but never forget). Alfred didn't want to discuss this matter, and he knew Ivan wouldn't want to hear it. But for the sake of their future, he would have to expose himself. All of himself. Even the parts he was most ashamed of.

~o~

"What are you doing here?" Ivan appeared genuinely confused to see a half-frozen American on his doorstep, like a puppy who had lost its way in the wilderness.

Alfred swallowed and took in a big gulp of breath. "Look—we need to talk."

Ivan stiffened, his lips pursing as the crease between his eyebrows tightened. "There is nothing to talk about. Why would there be anything to talk about? I tried making you do something you did not want to do, you said no…we have not spoken for three weeks since…"

"Exactly. That's the problem with us." Ignoring the way Ivan's flinched at his choice of words, he quickly continued. "If we want us to work out, we have to learn to communicate. Without misunderstandings. And…without secrets."

Ivan's exterior didn't show it, but Alfred knew he was distressed. He had learnt to read the signals over all those years of studying him; the slight twitching of his fingers, how his gaze became a little less piercing, any moment now he would be playing with his scarf. And that was indeed the case, roughened yet elegant fingers delicately touching the frayed edges as Ivan moved aside.

"...You may talk all you want. But I have nothing to share."

"We'll see about that," Alfred shrugged it off, squirming past the tall nation and into his house. Ivan frowned a little, but finally sighed in surrender and closed the front door.

Alfred followed the other into his all too familiar living room, taking off his jacket in the process. Even though Ivan had a fireplace, he barely lit it, for whatever reason. Ivan always claimed the cold didn't bother him, but then why would he snuggle up to Alfred's heat when he thought Alfred had already fallen asleep?

The wheat-coloured blond waited for his host to bring some tea from the kitchen before commencing with his story.

"Well, all nations have scars right? You know that better than any other." Ivan's expression soured considerably. Alfred went on. "Most of them come from wars and battles, to remind us of important events in history. Some have emotional connections…"

"Alfred—"

"Let me finish." Ivan seemed very reluctant to comply to that request, but buried his face in his hands and allowed it nonetheless. "Battle wounds, emotional scars…and then…" He swallowed, turning his gaze towards the ground before spilling the words that most needed to be spilled. "And some we inflicted upon ourselves."

This eventually got Ivan's attention. Slowly those violet spheres wandered up again, filled with both disbelief and wariness. Did Alfred know…? No. No, Alfred didn't know. He was only talking about himself. Which meant…

Alfred finally turned around, keeping his gaze fixed on the tips of his shoes. He pulled his sweater over his head and took a hold of the shirt he'd been wearing underneath it. Throwing an apprehensive glance over his shoulder, he saw Ivan staring at his clothed back with a familiar intensity. He shuddered, squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled up the shirt, showing his bare skin. And on it, dozens of ugly marks and cuts. These weren't battle wounds, nor emotional scars. They were his own stupid fault, and it would take a long time to get rid of them.

Ivan's low gasp was enough to make the words tumble out of his mouth.

"It was dumb, I know. But we all did stupid things, right? And it was my boss' idea, true, I did agree with it, but if I'd known that it would have this effect…" He kept blabbering, over the sound of Ivan slowly rising from his seat. The tears filled his eyes as the words kept on streaming, pouring, spilling without any sign of stopping. "You know what they are, right? You've seen 'em too, on the people. W-we thought, better me than them, right? T-the bombs, I mean. Had to test 'em somewhere. On my, on my land. How could they know it would leave this behind? How could I know? Oh God, just say something already! Tell me I'm disgusting, I'm worthless, I'm an idiot, that I—"

Alfred bit his lip the same moment he felt arms trap him in a tight embrace. He was startled when Ivan's scarf fell to the ground next to them, the other taking it off willingly for the first time in little less than a century.

"I-Ivan?"

His wrist was gently captured, rugged fingertips stroking the skin as his hand was brought up. Ivan leant slightly over his shoulder, closing his eyes to show he trusted the other. Then Alfred's hand met Ivan's neck, a shock of recognition setting his nerves on fire. Only, it wasn't the same. There were more scars, far more. Some felt natural, reminders of all the wars the twentieth century had brought upon the world. Others were new…yet alarmingly familiar.

"You are not the only one who can be foolish," Ivan breathed, a humourless tremble rippling through the soft tones of his voice. Alfred didn't say anything. Instead, he turned around in Ivan's grasp, and returned the embrace. They held onto each other for a very long time, clinging as the suppressed sniffles became broken sobs. Ivan was a little better at keeping himself composed, but that was only possibly because he was used to being hurt, making Alfred even sadder.

Finally they knew the truth. They didn't have to hide from one another. They were the same in their flaws, they had already traversed each other's darkest shadows for they were also their own.

They were broken men, both in and out. But they were happy.

For only together could they learn to forgive themselves, and embark on the path towards recovery.


End file.
